The Other Mother

To the mother whose arms will be empty. To the one who will wake up with a heartache. To the mom who will wish she had a scribbled on card and a kid with bedhead to wake her up. To the mother who wonders if she’ll ever hold a baby. You aren’t alone, and you aren’t forgotten. Mother’s Day may seem like a painful reminder, and you might feel left out and isolated. But you aren’t.

The thing I found when I went through my losses, my painful Mother’s Day, is that far more women than you would think know exactly what you’re feeling. Believe me when I say you are not alone. If your miscarriage or infertility happened before you had any children to hold, this day may be especially hard because no one will say Happy Mother’s Day to you. But I will say it–Happy Mother’s Day, sweet momma. You may not have a baby in your arms, but you are a mom. And even though hope may seem gossamer-thin, hold on. Hold on. Hold on. I know it’s hard and painful and your broken heart just wants to give up.

Sunday, I’ll walk outside to my hydrangea and I’ll remember that Mother’s Day, the one I didn’t want to happen. The one where I cried all day and just tried to stay busy with work and church stuff. The one where I thought no one would say Happy Mother’s Day, but then Matt gently handed me a hydrangea plant in memory of our baby and said the words to me I so longed to hear. Happy Mother’s Day. I didn’t have a baby in my arms yet. I was pregnant with our second child but didn’t know it at the time. Later in the summer, that baby would go straight to Heaven too. My arms were painfully empty that Mother’s Day, but in my heart I was already a momma. A momma waiting on her child. When I walk outside to my hydrangea this weekend, I’ll pray for the waiting mommas. If you’re on my list, I’ll pray for you specifically and for your child just like I do every day. If you aren’t on my list and want someone to pray for you by name, I’d be honored. Just leave your information below.